


to command it or demand it

by alternatedoom



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, Thor (Movies)
Genre: Canon-Typical Sexism, Gen, Homophobia, Kink Meme
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-06-03
Updated: 2013-06-03
Packaged: 2019-01-18 22:19:29
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,284
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12397392
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/alternatedoom/pseuds/alternatedoom
Summary: 5 times Loki pulled rank on Thor's friends.





	to command it or demand it

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the Thor kink meme [here](https://norsekink.livejournal.com/11337.html?thread=26515529#t26515529). Prompt was: _5 times Loki pulled rank on Thor's friends (and 1 time he didn't)_
> 
> _What it says on the tin._
> 
> _5 times Thor's friends got a little too liberal in their speech towards him and Loki had to remind them he was a prince - their prince-, not just Thor's younger brother. And course they don't much appreciate the reminder._

-1-

The six of them were strolling along Asgard's sunny promenade, in the shadow of the huge golden statues fashioned of the realm's greatest champions, when Thor clapped a hand on his brother's shoulder and breached the subject Loki had been hoping to avoid a while longer. 

"Brother, we seem to see you less and less at the training grounds. Helfin's been asking after you. I told him I am not your keeper, but he persists in beseeching me to ask you. Why have you been skipping your sparring lessons?" 

As Loki's devotion to spellwork had grown, his gradually increasing absences in the practice yard had unfortunately not gone unnoticed.

And so like Thor to come right out and ask frankly what so many others would only murmur about behind his back. Loki glanced at Thor, smiling easily at him despite his anxiety. Thor was a lunkhead, but Loki loved his brother dearly in spite of his witlessness.

"Yes, he's already accosted me to inquire about my absences." Helfin had, but Loki had offered him few answers, evading the questions instead. 

Thor too seemed puzzled by his non-answer, squinting at him in the sunlight. 

Loki wasn't entirely sure how to go about telling people that he wasn't going to waste his hours on Asgard's most beloved vocation and past-time, especially when combat training was so utterly expected of him. It was assumed as a given that as a prince, he would take up the sword or one of several blunt instruments and make a go of it. He had to think of some delicate way to put this sentiment, though, before Helfin stopped pestering Thor and went straight to Father.

Volstagg, who was considerably older and knew more about combat than any of them, put in gruffly, "And when you do show up, all you ever want to fight with are daggers barely bigger than table knives. You'll never grow those puny little muscles fighting with daggers. Put a sword or a hammer in your hand like a man."

Loki bit off an angry retort. 

Thor was still looking at him for some explanation, and truly, he might as well just have it out. 

Loki took a quick, steadying breath and calmly addressed Thor, ignoring Volstagg's no doubt well-intended suggestion. "I've decided I prefer the study of magic. I'm afraid combat training has not held my interest."

You'd think he'd suggesting destroying the realm.

Thor halted midstride, using one strong hand to spin Loki around to face him. The others stopped with him, their little group cluttering the promenade in a messy half-circle. Passersby regarded them curiously, a few grumbling at the way they were blocking their side of the walkway. Standing a bit apart from the others, Loki spared a split second to wish this discussion could have happened elsewhere--the library, the great tower, the hunting grounds, the forest, his bedchamber or Thor's--anywhere but in this incredibly public street.

Thor looked absolutely astonished, and for once was rendered speechless. Sif stared at Loki, hand on the hilt of her sword like she couldn't imagine life without it. Loki had never seen Hogun's eyebrows so high. Fandral stared too, the fingers of one hand unconsciously pressed to a cheek signalling his general amazement. 

Vorstagg was not rendered speechless, although he seemed equally stunned. "What kind of man does not learn to fight?! You would proclaim yourself a coward, a weakling?"

There were few insults as sharp in Asgard, and Loki was stung out of his hard-won composure. He took a quick, harsh breath, his voice went low and angry, and he reddened high on his cheekbones. And he opened his mouth with absolutely no idea what was going to come out.

"How _dare_ you? _I am your prince_."

A short silence fell, and Volstagg stumbled over his reply. "I mean... I mean to say that that is a most unusual choice, my prince. But I have no doubt that... ah..." He trailed off, and finally bowed his head respectfully. The uncomfortable silence resumed. After another moment Fandral tactfully (if obviously) changed the subject, and they started walking again.

It was not his most mature moment, and Loki knew it. But one excellent thing was accomplished: Loki returned to the training courtyard only when he wished, and no one outside of his family ever asked any more questions.

 

-2-

As the years passed, Sif and Loki often clashed. Loki thought it odd--they were both misfits, after a fashion. He with his magic was set apart from the men of his world, even as Sif with her sword and shield was set apart from the ladies of the court. It would have made sense for them to get along, to support each other, he thought. But Sif had found a place with the men; there would never be any such niche for Loki. And always she favored Thor. Perhaps it was because of her love for the sword, for the fight and the glory of physical combat, that she treated Loki, who had chosen a different path, with stiff politeness or even veiled contempt.

They were off on one of Thor's grand adventures, back when Loki was young enough to still think Thor's expeditions grand and exciting. He and Thor and Sif and Hogun huddled behind a large boulder, wearing gruesome Farzen disguises. Thor was studying the terrain up ahead, checking out the hulking, brutal-looking guards at the entrance to the city gates.

"One of you come with me. The others go back and find Volstagg and Fandral, then the four of you head around through the forest to the back." Thor barely lowered his voice to impart these instructions. Skulking about was not his forte and did not suit him, and he had little patience for it. Only the combined imploring of his friends had persuaded him, grudgingly, to give stealth a try. Crouching in the dirt, Thor fiddled with the grungy, scratchy hood of his disguise.

"I'll come," Loki said quickly.

"Thor, your hair is showing again," Hogun interrupted quietly. 

Grimacing in a hideous Farzen rictus, Thor reached up and stuffed the stray blond locks back under the black fabric. "How can the Farzen stand these? They're so itchy," he muttered.

Sif obviously wanted to stick with Thor, as she pulled a disturbing, distorted face at Loki. "Loki, you can't fight. If it comes to battle, they'll crush you," she whispered.

"I can fight with magic," Loki whispered back heatedly.

"Magic?" Sif scoffed. "You can't fight with magic."

Sif had zero idea what he could or couldn't do. Frustratingly, though, in all honesty Loki couldn't even know how successful his spells would be in a battle, as he'd never found himself in one before. Still, it irked him to have her talk down to him so, and he knew it showed in his voice. "I devised good disguises for us, didn't I?" Half costume, half enchantments, the disguises were undeniably well executed and if Thor would _just stop_ messing with his hood--

"Loki, you're just a boy," Sif whispered. "Stay here. I'll go with Thor."

"A boy, and your prince," Loki hissed back, outright hostile now. 

That took the wind out of her sails a bit. He could see it in her frown, even through the bewitchment of the ugly Farzen snout; for the first time he glimpsed himself through her eyes. Thor's slightly irritating, strange younger brother, who shunned the traditional manly combat so valued by their people for an ancient art she greatly mistrusted.

Sif genuinely disliked him. The realization was unsettling.

She and Thor were both looking at Loki now. Sif looked resentful, Thor torn. Hogun was staring at Sif, with something in his face Loki couldn't construe.

Thor nodded, decisive now, still scratching at his head under the hood. Thor rarely had trouble with decisions, usually making up his mind in moments. "It is your right, brother."

Loki cast his eyes back to Sif, and a long, acid look passed between them. Yes, the disfavor was mutual. Loki wasn't entirely able to keep the smugness from twisting his lips. He was very young.

They were all very young then.

Jerking up her rough black hood, Sif turned and crept off, staying low to the ground. With a last unreadable glance at Thor and Loki, Hogun silently followed her.

 

-3- The year he came of age

They were walking together through the wide torch-lined hall on their way to the feast when Thor, taken by a thought, slapped him enthusiastically on the back. "Brother, you are a man now. Will you enter the drinking contest with us this night?"

Volstagg, younger then but no less substantial, laughed heartily. "Man he may be, but the boy's too small and too inexperienced. He hardly touches his mug at dinner as it is! They'd drink him under the table in ten minutes."

Flushing, Loki kept his voice even. "I have no interest in that manner of game, Thor. Is it so strange that I prefer to remain in control of myself, Volstagg?"

"A silly question, lad. It's a feast. You're supposed to relax. But you're slight and you've got no tolerance built up, so don't start relaxing all at once tonight." Volstagg laughed boisterously at his own witticism. 

Volstagg had no problem relaxing, eating and drinking, at a feast or not. Even as the six of them were winding their way up the broad marble stairs to the banquet hall, Volstagg was staggering a little. He had a half-eaten giant roast chicken leg in one hand, and he took a large bite after his suggestion that Loki relax. A truly stupendous quantity of mead was needed to get Volstagg drunk, but the palace kept an abundance of mead on hand, and he was already well on his way. 

Loki drew himself to his full height, but kept his tone relatively light. "As a member of the royal family, I have some dignity I prefer to maintain." The remark was as much a stab at Thor, who was famously intemperate when it came to the pleasures of drink, as it was a dig at Volstagg. Thor, usually loyal and ever quick to rise to his loved ones' defense in most matters, never seemed to speak up for Loki when it came to Lady Sif and the Warriors Three. Not that Loki cared. He could fight his own battles quite well, thank you.

Volstagg, who unless he was shocked or soundly drunk was surprisingly politic, finally took the point and backed off hastily. "Of course, my prince."

 

-4-

At the midsummer night's banquet Loki sat between Thor and Volstagg and across from Hogun, sipping a glass of wine. Not mulled--he preferred it straight and well decanted so it could have a chance to breathe. Thor and Volstagg were happily drunk and Fandral was on his way. Loki and Sif and Hogun were still mostly sober.

For the last hour their table's topic of choice had been the upcoming Great Games, held but once every century. No ordinary contests, the Games were extensive, lasting weeks with competitions in dozens of different athletic skills and weapons, and unparalleled splendor and feasting, and the grandest glory for any feats achieved outside of wartime. This subject that so enthralled the others little interested Loki. He was slouched in his seat, watching the dancing, watching the citizens of Asgard as they ate and drank and told tales, and only half-listening. Fandral would attempt the swimming and juggling and archery contests. Thor would enter everything, of course, and win at least a few, though he allowed with a laugh that Sif had passable odds on the general melee, which they would of course all fight in. Volstagg would surely be champion in the wrestling, blah blah blah. Loki sometimes found it passing strange just how different he was from, it seemed, everyone around him.

Hearing his name brought him back to the conversation.

"What about you, Loki? Which competitions will you enter?" Hogun asked. A rather transparent attempt to include him, but Loki was still able to appreciate any of them making an effort. 

But Sif scoffed. "Loki left off his training years ago, he can't participate in the armed bouts. And he's too weak for swimming or wrestling, he doesn't have the musculature for it."

These insults were thrown out factually, but as always with Sif when it came to Loki, there was a disdainful edge to her voice. Loki sat up slowly.

"I may not spend all my time swinging a mace around, but believe me, I could lay you low, Sif." He stared Sif down across the table.

Sif snorted. "I doubt it."

Loki's tone grew even icier. "If I have not, it is because you would not rise again."

It was perhaps the wrong thing to say to one such as Sif, a warrior maid proud of her prowess in battle and ever with something to prove. She stood, turning full to face him. "The words of one too shamed and cowardly to face a foe squarely with a sword or axe in hand. Face it, you're no warrior Loki. If you did show up in the ring, they would laugh at you."

Sif looked as though she believed what she said to be true, but Loki had had enough affrontery from her. Abruptly he rose also, throwing his linen napkin down on the table. He straightened his shoulders, smoothed his tunic and the lines of his face, all while looking down at Sif across the table. Only a little bit down, Sif was quite tall, but down nonetheless.

"They would not laugh, I think. Have a care how you speak to me." The words came out, as he desired, firm and quiet and regal rather than menacing or threatening. Yes, that was the image he wished to cultivate, the sort of man that he would be. How good it felt to be in control, to come off as one meant to.

Thor looked up at him, eyebrows raised, and reached up to catch at his brother's forearm. Across the table Hogun, standing, had grasped Sif's upper arm as if to stop her leaping over the table. Loki was conscious of a handful of people looking over at them, but he found he truly did not care.

Sif inclined her head slightly--very slightly--and her eyes were still full of barely concealed scorn, but it was probably all the apology Loki was going to receive.

"My friends. Let's not fight," Thor said, tugging at Loki's arm, but looking anxiously to Sif.

 _My friends_ , Loki thought. Yes. They were Thor's friends. Not his. Never his.

 

-5-

Fandral was going on about some beautiful woman he'd had without actually giving them any hard information about her. Gentlemen did not kiss and tell, but he and Thor nevertheless were endlessly trying to one-up each other with their romantic conquests. Thor was asking both random and leading questions, trying to figure out who the lucky maiden was. Is she noble, is she blond, is she that serving girl who spilled wine on your tunic last week. It was a game the two often played back and forth, and they never seemed to run out of women to fuck or to guess at. No identities were ever confirmed in so many words, but Fandral was much better at guessing Thor's paramours than Thor was at guessing his.

Sif was practicing with her throwing knives off to one side of the luxurious brazier-lit room; her way of quietly disapproving, Loki thought. Volstagg was eating from a tray piled high with smoked meats, various fruits and several different kinds of bread, and had a second casket of ale near to hand. Hogun lay on a leather chaise, ostensibly asleep, while Loki wandered slowly, aimlessly about the room, his wineglass abandoned half-full on a table.

Thor drummed his fingers on the armrest of his couch in the center of the room. "Very well. What was she wearing at the previous night's feast?"

Thor's questions were growing ever more ridiculous. Loki turned on his heel, rolling his eyes. "Like either of you would remember what any given woman was wearing on any particular night."

"But you might, eh Loki?" Fandral laughed. 

"Not likely," Loki said dryly.

Fandral might have been tiring of the guessing game, for he went on. "Pray tell, why is it we never hear of your conquests, Loki? You must have as many as either of us." 

"No. I see no reason to rob any maidens of their virtue like you lot." His casual wave encompassed Thor and the warriors three, but mostly Thor and Fandral. Volstagg and Hogun were married and too mature to boast, respectively. Of course, in his youth, if his tall tales could be believed, Volstagg had relieved many a maiden of her virtue.

Fandral said slyly, "I think Loki's just not interested in the ladies of the court." 

The implication was clear. 

Sif choked off a sudden, startled laugh, ceasing her knifework mid-throw to look over at them. Hogun cleared his throat. So he was awake after all, Loki thought, resigned.

Thor looked aghast, as if this possibility had never occurred to him (despite it being a persistent rumor even Loki knew about, somehow Thor had managed not to hear the gossip) and he looked to Loki, those shocked blue eyes openly seeking denial--or confirmation. As if it were any of his business, the great golden fool. Loki felt a pang at that.

But he no longer felt the high, bright spots of color that used to rise on his cheeks at these moments. Loki kept his composure, and felt no impulse to snap an irate response. He was used to the little slights by now, the ones that ventured past the point of playfulness or teasing, and he was infinitely better at responding to them. He found his wineglass, looked past Thor and directed his response towards Fandral.

"And I needn't be, as my father will no doubt arrange a match for me when he deems it time." Subtle, but then, Loki preferred subtle. Though many ladies found their way to his bed, Fandral was not important enough to warrant a marriage designed for any particular political purposes, and unlike Sif and Thor, Fandral was more than capable of picking up on subtle.

Paired with a long, cold gaze, his words did the trick. Fandral made a graceful half-bow, his short, flamboyant red cape falling over his narrow shoulders, his expression suitably apologetic. "Of course. I was merely jesting, my lord."

"Of course," said Loki, draining his wineglass.

After a moment, Sif turned away and resumed the cyclical throwing and retrieving of her knives, and Hogun changed the subject with an offhand comment about her throwing stance, but Loki felt Thor's eyes still lingering on him all evening.

 

+1+

The Lady Sif and the Warriors Three learned, in time, to respect his power, every bit as formidable as Thor's with his hammer or Hogun's with his spiked mace, and his cunning, which was unrivaled (if he did say so himself). That, and neither his knife-sharp nor breath-subtle reminders of his blood and birthright, were what finally brought the occasional disrespectful comments from Thor's friends to a halt.

Lady Sif and the Warriors Three visited him in his cell on the third day.

"Why did you do it?" Hogun asked quietly.

 _I was a king. A king does what he will._ The retort rose to his dry lips and died upon them. Yes, he had been a king. But it didn't matter now.


End file.
